Listening to Elle Flute Trio Jan. 30, 2011

The Japanese folk songs took me to the local Japanese garden.
Women bow and I bow in return for the gracious invitation to the tea house.
The stream cascades over shallow rocks
And flowers wave back to the music.
A final bow cements the bonding between music and me.

I imagine walking gingerly over the slippery rocks
From one side of the stream to the other.
Before I get across, I feel heavy, doubtful,
Torn between stepping back and moving forward.
A lasso, a jump rope, are thrown out, willy nilly,
And no one cares if or how they convert to anything solid.
They are notes left out to recess
With no one monitoring their movement.
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The Irish medley glides me to the Dublin pubs
With proud players of musical heritage.
My 2009 trip stands at attention
And I alight on a pub stool, wrapped in melody.
I celebrate their history,
Their obvious pleasure in listeners' movement.
Hands are joined, my mind tells me,
And feet kick in twirling delight.
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Bach's sonata guides me from circles of vitality
To a procession of solemn intent,
Honoring the sacred all around and in us.
Presto shows off its freedom,
Its right to do whatever moves it,
And I want to taste, no, gulp, mouthfuls,
Breathfuls of total abandon.
No restraint here. Go, girls!
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For Strauss' polka, I can almost imagine
Rising from my seat, even without a partner,
And doing the polka up the aisles
And around the chairs.
Oh, can I keep up?
It doesn't matter.
I just keep up with the unleashed child,
Never to be restrained again!